


A Spymaster's Promise

by BoilingHeart



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Mourning, and mourn varian, anniversary of death, shaw visits lion's rest to pay his respects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoilingHeart/pseuds/BoilingHeart
Summary: It's been exactly two years since King Varian Wrynn's death, and Shaw brings himself to visit his memorial with a few words.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Spymaster's Promise

The Stormwind Guard knows the SI:7, and they know Master Mathias Shaw.

Or rather, they know _of_ him.

Understandably so, details on those agents and said spymaster are hard to come by. Witnessing any one of them at work is a rare sight, and though the SI:7 are, by the end of the day, normal people, to see one agent in uniform and in plain sight is a bad omen for the Guard.

Like seeing an owl in the daytime. 

So when Mathias Shaw is spotted in the Stormwind park without entourage, or at the very least the king he often stuck to like a tumor, it puts the guards on edge. None dare approach or question him; some even fear looking directly at him. The SI:7 are not meant to be seen, not a force to be trifled with.

So they stand rigid as he walks past down the cobblestone path, stony gaze fixed forward towards the setting sun, the lingering rays of light pouring from behind the stone memorials that framed Lion’s Rest.

He stops at the top of the steps, looking over the empty tomb and the vibrant blue carpet draped decoratively over it. The air is still, the shade cast from the memorial with the names of every life lost in the Legion’s assault leaving him cold in the absence of the sun.

Shaw takes a breath, and drops to a knee.

The statue atop the tomb could never compare to the real man, and the tomb itself is empty, but still, it’s the closest thing he has to pay his respects. It has to do.

But he can feel its emptiness.

He rests his hands atop his knee and hangs his head — Anduin may be king now, and he holds respect for the young man no doubt, but Varian... Oh, Varian...

By the time the sun had long set and the bell tolls at midnight, it will have been exactly two years since he passed away.

Since the Broken Shore.

Since he failed his king.

 **“** Your majesty, **”** He says quietly, feeling the strain in his voice as emotion in his throat threatens to garrote him. “ Forgive me for intruding on your rest. But I bring you only good news this time, I promise. 

**“** Anduin has grown well. On his good days, you wouldn’t even notice his limp anymore, and when he laughs, he’s quite nearly the spitting image of Tiffin, **”** His lip curves upward for a moment, but he keeps his gaze fixed to the ground. **“** King Greymane has helped him along in his training. He’s still... sloppy with a sword, but effective. Enough that he’s kept himself alive — he reminds me of you in battle. **”**

He’d witnessed enough, seen the battle for Lordaeron, how the armies had charged forth, how they persevered, how the young king summoned such brilliant forces of Light; Shaw was a stranger to most things magical, and though he held a strong distaste for the Light and all those who foolishly swore faith in it, even he knew what significance it bore.

But the king’s youth, remembering it wipes whatever traces of a smile Shaw wore, teeth grit as the weight crushes him again.

 **“** I’m sorry that he has to fight. I know you wanted a warrior, wanted him to be a fighter, to stand strong, but he should not have to. His youth was wasted, your majesty. All that lies ahead of him now is the next war after the next war. 

**“** We won this one, though. You would probably at least be pleased to hear that much. The warfronts are finished and an armistice signed — Sylvanas is... unaccounted for, but no longer an immediate threat. We won, Varian. **”**

He forces himself to bring his gaze up, to look onto the still statue of him lying in rest. It’s not him, of course, and it doesn’t capture him, but it feels so, so _wrong_ to see even the image of him so still.

 **“** I know we all knew it would come to this some day, that your son’s innocence would be shattered with the revelation that Azeroth is forever doomed. Even without the sword, even without the Old Gods and the Legion — so long as there is life, there is war. No one should have to face it. Not him. Not... Not you. **”**

Shaw knows it intimately well; Pathonia ensured that he witnessed only the brutal honesty of the world. No fairytales, no false hopes, no comforting words — only a dagger in his small hands and a throne to serve and protect. Face all challenges, overcome all wars in the hopes that the Kingdom will survive and still remain standing by the end. Not everyone will survive, but at the very least, he could ensure House Wrynn did.

 **“** I’m sorry I failed you, Varian. I’m sorry I keep apologizing for it every time I visit, but I... **”** He stares off, searching for his words, searching for his _strength._ **“** I should have done more. I would have given everything to protect you, I would have endured a thousand deaths if it meant I could have saved you and the others. It should have been me. **”**

The fact that Detheroc kept him alive was no mercy. It served only to crush him, to make him feel the effects of his failure. He takes a deep breath, the sting of his eyes and throat threatening to overwhelm him, tides lapping at the rocks with increasing violence, waves soon to sweep him into the deep.

 **“** I’m doing everything I can to protect your son. He holds... so much promise, and so much of your energy — I will see to it that we preserve it. That we preserve Stormwind. I’ve already sworn my life to it, you know this, but I will continue to remind you, and I will continue to give you these reports. **”**

Red swallows the sky, a fiery visage painted behind the pale stone and blue banners. The last lights of day wane, and he can feel the cold breeze now against what skin he had exposed.

 **“** Perhaps a happy ending exists. I’ve yet to see evidence anyone can ever experience it, but I wonder sometimes if there is one. Anduin still, despite everything, holds _hope_ — the world is bleak, Varian. The world is dying, but somehow, there’s still hope. Somehow, I can almost trick myself into believing it. **”**

He rises now, steadying his breath and holding his head high. **“** If there is one, I will find it for you. For Stormwind. For the Alliance. **”**

He hesitates for a moment, wanting to approach the tomb, to press his hand to it, to offer something more, but even with the empty tomb and an unliving statue, it still feels wrong, too close — he clasps his hands behind his back, and offers him that same graceful bow worthy of any king.

 **“** I will not fail you again. **”**

As he turns to leave, the last light dies out, and he melts into the shadows, not a trace of his presence left at Lion’s Rest.


End file.
